Beautiful People

WHAT? I Like To Sleep!

Wee Little Fee

Root, Root, Root for the home team ... and the newborn

I don’t consider it a curse the Cubs lost 11-9 to Cincinnati the day my first child, Parker, was born. Although, I do consider the Billy Goat and, yes, even Steve Bartman curses. It doesn’t matter Ken Griffey Jr. drove in four RBIs that April night or Adam Dunn smacked yet another homerun.

Although, it was nice to see Derek Lee, Aramamis Ramirez, Jeromy Burnitz and Jason Dubois all go yard (all-for-not) because Crazy Carlos got ejected — AGAIN.

It matters more that my son was born during baseball season — and the Cubs were on TV.

Although, the same can be said if it would have been basketball season and Kentucky was playing. However, Mom may have not had as much support from me.

As my first Father’s Day approaches I have something to root for that means almost to me as my beloved Cubbies and ‘Cats. Parker Evans Dann was born April 26 at Western Baptist Hospital in Paducah. He measured 18 1/2 inches long and weighed 6 pounds 14 ounces.

The little guy is about as fun to watch as a Mark Prior fastball, but I’m sure I share the same feeling that many fathers across the good ol’ US of A experience while watching Prior pitch ... errrr, their children play.

Parker’s arrival in this world was definitely a story for the ages, but luckily for all parties involved, especially my beautiful bride, he came sooner than a Cubs World Series.

Although, he might have never come. 1908. Almost ninety-seven years. Yes, it’s really been that long.

Cassie’s water broke around 2 a.m., leaving us plenty of time to get to the hospital — right after I wrote and e-mailed a local game story and photos and then right after I made the bed, folded some laundry, took out the trash, grabbed some breakfast, had a shower, packed some bags, loaded down the car, watched the morning edition of Sportscenter. Six hours later, the day of jubilation was among us. I must admit many of those pre-birth chores were requested by my wife — not yours truly.

We settled into the hospital and a couple of doses of pitocin later, Peanut, as we like to call him, graced us with his presence. Six weeks later, he entertains us with his mannerisms — his intent and alert stares, his signs of almost being able to react with a smile, his coos that express his contentment.

Keeping his contentment isn’t always an easy thing to manage, but when times get fussy, dad usually breaks out a little “Take Me Out To the Ballgame” to put him in a more relaxing state — and the best seasonal mindset.

I recently found contentment watching the Cubs beat the Blue Jays 2-0 — yes, even on mute. We’ve improved from two bars of volume on the television to almost eight now. I’ve gotten used to watching television that way. I still saw Sergio Mitre outpitch Toronto ace Roy Halladay for his first win of the season, preventing a sweep at Wrigley.

Although, sometimes it’s easier not to have to hear the Cubs lose, I can always close my eyes.

Some Cubs games are predictable. Some happen exactly the opposite of the way the fans plan. But baseball goes on. Just as it will on June 19, as Peanut and I settle into our easychiar to watch the Boys in Blue take down the pinstriped Evil Empire.

Parker keeps me wondering how he will amaze me next. I’ve got a lifetime to be his biggest fan, much like I have been and will be for the Northsiders. And while I was vetoed by the powers-to-be (mother dearest) on such Chicago great names as Ryne or Wrigley, I’m keeping Addison Clark in my pocket for when I have that little girl.